


Could Be Worse

by Raepocalypse



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: Bullying, Fluff, M/M, bottle episode, graphic depictions of hand holding, i guess i should tag that, mitch is a terrible savior, nothing happens tbh, this is my tiny tiny contribution to a cute small fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raepocalypse/pseuds/Raepocalypse
Summary: Jonas didn't mean for Mitch to try and save him from his being trapped in a (very literal) closet, but here they are anyway. Mitch is terrible at saving the day, but you know? It really could be worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! If you're new to this you can find the comic here! http://longexposurecomic.com/
> 
> If you're not new to this, please enjoy some stupid fluff of stupid boys. I love them. 
> 
> Not beta'd

Jonas considered Mitch to be “his bully.” Not because he bullied him exclusively, but because it was usually Mitch who did the bullying. He never considered why it might be, but it was times like these that he realized there was a sense of complacency in that kind of thinking. The kind of thinking that led to a group of popular rich boys poking fun at freckles, at weight, at wild hair, when he was alone. The kind of thinking that got him shoved into a locker, assaulted him with further laughter when he _didn’t fit_ , and then shoved into a storeroom moments later.

He stayed there for a while, silent and shaking. He was late to class already, but it was at least better to stay here in the dark, with little green lights dancing around him, than to head out into the world before he could compose himself.

When the lights died down, when he could control his breathing a little better and he couldn’t see his hands shaking in the dim light of his dying phone, he got up. The world was waiting for him. He couldn’t hide here. Besides, if he didn’t go to class, he’d get in trouble for ditching, even if that wasn’t the case.

Another deep breath as he fumbled for the door handle. Another one as he tucked his phone away. One more when he turned the handle. Rather, tried to turn the handle. It didn’t move when he tried to twist it.

Instantly, Jonas’s mouth went dry. Green lights flared up around him again, lighting the little room up. The knob stuck again and when he finally jerked at it more firmly, something came loose and he looked at the broken thing in his hand.

With a frustrated shout, he tilted forward and slammed his head into the door. “Anybody out there?” he called out, hoping someone could hear him. Anyone. A little louder this time, “Hello? Anybody?”

Sidney would have her phone on her, but he didn’t know exactly where he was in the school anymore. Near-ish to his locker? With a sigh, he fished his phone out again and saw he had somehow missed a few texts from Mitch. Of course he had. He ignored that in favor of texting his sister. Help first. Mitch later. Having his phone come unplugged overnight had not been ideal for today’s situation.

 

>   **Jonas**  
>  Hey I’m trapped in a closet  
>  I need you to come get me out? Please? Whatever one is closest to my locker.

He waited a few minutes after that, hoping she would check her phone in class. It was the most he could hope for.

His heart jumped with hope when his phone buzzed an alert for a text, but it was just Mitch. Again. With a heavy sigh, he ran through the several messages waiting for him.

 

>   **Mitch**  
>  sppts  
>  hye wherr r yuo  
>  fuk cnat belive yoru skkiping wo me  
>  stops  
>  u sik?  
>  saw yuo tdoay i kno u cam to schul  
>  y u ignring me?  
>  Joye cmon  
>  ehy  
>  hye  
>  Spots hey

Pinching the bridge of his nose as the last three came in, he finally decided his battery was going to die anyway if he didn’t put a stop to this.

 

> **Jonas**  
>  Stop it, my phone is dying and I need it. I’m fine, just a little preoccupied.

 

 

> **Mitch**  
>  u gtetin lukcy at skuul?

 

 

> **Jonas**  
>  What? No. I’m just a little stuck right now. I’ll meet you later to work on the project.

 

 

> **Mitch**  
>  stkuck how?

He pursed his lips, frowning at the phone. What part of “my phone is dying” did he not get? (Probably all of it. And what on Earth was going on with his texting?)

 

>    **Jonas**  
>  The knob came off of this door.  
>  I’m stuck in this stupid janitor closet, okay?  
>  Happy?

There was a long pause, one that had his phone flashing it’s battery warning. It went dim, then lit up with Mitch’s next message before shutting down entirely.

And that was that. Of course it was. With a frustrated groan, the lights around him flashing and dancing their irritability, he dropped his head back against the wall.

It smelled surprisingly okay, at least. Heavily like Pine Sol and citrus, which wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t bright enough to read, but he figured that if he made a little noise, then at least he would be able to be found when Sidney checked her messages. Digging in his backpack, he found the drumsticks he carried with him and felt around until he found an empty mop bucket. Good enough.

Turning the thing over he locked the bucket between his thighs and started making some noise. If there was one thing drummers were good at, it was making noise.

Shockingly, though, he only had to keep that up for a few minutes. Maybe it was the sound, maybe it was something else, but in less than five minutes, the door flew open and Jonas was flinching at the sudden influx of light.

“There you fuckin’ are,” came the scratchy voice.

“Mitch?” he asked, squinting up at the lanky figure in the doorway.

He scoffed, taking a step in and offering him a hand. “Who else would it be? Been opening closet doors for like twenty minutes now. _Someone_ didn’t tell me where the fuck they were.”

Frowning, Jonas pushed the bucket away and debated giving him his hand for a few moments. Unfortunately, his legs were both asleep, and getting up on his own would end up an embarrassing moment. “My phone died. I told you my phone was dying,” he grumbled, letting Mitch haul him to his feet. 

Mitch grunted noncommittally, giving a shrug as he stared down at him. It was a little too intense, a almost searching. Jonas couldn’t tell if he found what he was looking for, but he frowned a little more deeply. “How the fuck you get stuck in here, anyway?”

Red flags flitted up in Jonas’s mind. He turned and picked up his bag instead, hoping to hurry things along. “It doesn’t matter. Can we go? You’re kind of blocking the door and the smell of cleaner is making my head hurt.”

“Y’got a bruise on your face,” he replied, as though it was somehow an answer. One rough hand lifted and Jonas flinched back slightly. Rather than anything rough, though, a calloused thumb brushed his cheek. “Right here.” The shelves around them rattled lowly.

“Mitch, I want to leave,” he said, voice as firm as he could make it. Flickering wisps of green light started to flutter around them, illuminating the bottles and rags starting to float off of the shelves, the door shaking in it’s place against the wall.

“Was it Neil?” he demanded, the clatter around them growing. “I will fucking cut that little _prick_.”

They both jumped when the door slammed. Abruptly, everything around them fell again, the light from the hallway now being replaced by green and red. It might have been pretty if it weren’t for the context.

“Mitch!” Jonas shouted, dodging around him and fumbling at the empty place that used to hold a knob. “What the heck! You came to get me and now you- We-” His words cut off as the situation dawned on him.

He was trapped.

In a closet.

With _Mitch Mueller._

When he turned back to look at him, he was ready to see something uncaring, even predatory, like every time he had chased him through the halls. Instead, he caught the tail end of an almost apologetic face. Then it was gone, jaw going tight and irritated. “Whatever,” he snapped, moving to lean against the wall. “I’ll text Javier and he’ll let us out.”

Frowning tightly, Jonas threw his backpack to the floor again and dug his drumsticks out again. He was about to start making noise again, as he had done before, when Mitch flopped down onto the ground beside him, leaning on the shelf and into his personal space. “Javi’s gonna be a minute. He skipped school today, but he’s on his way.”

That was both comforting and not for Jonas. This was already less than ideal, and now they were stuck here for who knew how long while a clown-painted boy traveled from a trailer park to the school. Great.

“Seriously,” Mitch started again. “What got you stuck in here? If it was Neil, I will fucking cut him for you.”

“You just want me to say it was Neil so you have a reason to cut him,” Jonas sighed, looking for the bucket again and realizing he would have to reach across Mitch to get it.

The other was quiet for a moment, watching the lights flutter around them still. They still fluctuated colors, but stayed primarily green, uncontrolled little wisps. His hand lifted, going straight through one. “Howcome you’re still all… green? That’s the one that happens cause you’re scared, right?”

As if in answer, the lights jacked up a notch in brilliance. “No,” he lied, crossing his arms. “Well… Not just that. It can be other stuff.”

Another moment of silence. “You’re still scared of me, huh?”

Jonas frowned tightly again, willing the lights to change color until he had created something more neutral, a soft yellow taking the green’s place.

“You are.”

No answer. He looked down, swallowing hard. “Not like before, but… I’m allowed to be freaked out, Mitch. We’re stuck in a closet. You beat people like me up all the t-”

“But not you,” Mitch said sharply. “Not you and not your stupid clone.”

Another long silence hung between them, the lights around them slowly twisting in the air. “I’m not,” he said again softly. “And it’s… It was worse being alone.”

When the silence flared again, Jonas didn’t try to fill it. Neither did Mitch. It dragged out long enough that it should have been awkward, but it was almost… comfortable. Jonas didn’t have to concentrate to keep the lights from fading back into green again.

Minutes passed before Mitch murmured, “I won’t leave you alone.”

There was something inherently threatening about words like that, something that Jonas knew only weeks ago he would have flinched away from. Now, though, the tone, the softness, the determination he caught in the soft glow on Mitch’s face, he found comfort in it.

“Thanks.”

Swallowing hard, Jonas looked down, tried not to think too hard about what that meant. The first brush of their fingers surprised him, but not as much as he thought it should have. Had he been the one to reach out, or had it been Mitch? Either way, the lights around them fluttered and changed again, turning pink slowly.

Pinkies hooked first, then hands moved a little closer. Mitch’s hand was sweaty and big in his, but their fingers laced and he held on like his life depended on it. Jonas was a little worried he was shaking, but was too afraid to break the quiet to ask if he was okay.

Time started to move oddly. They didn’t know how long they sat there. Long enough that sitting there became uncomfortable, but not long enough that they were willing to break free and move. Mitch eventually relaxed from his rigid posture against the wall. The bell rang and made them both jump, but neither of them got up to draw attention to themselves and get help from the students bustling through the halls. The bell rang again and Mitch’s thumb was moving over Jonas’s knuckles.

Jonas never would have thought sitting in a closet, locked in the dark, would be so _nice._

He never thought he would hope rescue never came, either.

Mostly, though, he never thought he’d be so happy to hold Mitch Mueller’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that literally nothing happened but DETERMINED HAND HOLDING IS A++ FOR MY SONS OKAY


End file.
